Lockdown

I have to give Nicola Sturgeon credit where it’s due…at least she had the balls to use the word ‘lockdown’, which is more than the guy who passes for our PM, but looks more like a giant baby, did.  Also, I find her far more assertive and reassuring…why is she not our PM?  Oh, yeah, #indyref2…I don’t suppose that will be her priority again for a while.

Anyway, my political view (for what it’s worth) aside, this thing is really getting to me – way more than I anticipated.  For one, and I think I’ve said this in previous posts, I basically self-isolate anyway.  The only reasons I’ve left the house this year so far are for medical treatment or to walk Henry.  So I tick all the boxes that currently qualify me as a model citizen.  I can’t really pinpoint the reasons why this is affecting me but thought I’d bash out some thoughts…

…I’ve said this in a previous post, but I’m useless on the phone so I find it tricky to navigate the mental health services on which I so desperately depend without any face to face contact.  I’m also still having my meds tweaked.  I recently stopped one of two antidepressants I was taking, and seem to be a lot more tearful than normal.  I’m also more panicky, which hasn’t been an issue for a long time.  The panic seems to be (partly) related somehow to food/eating.  This is something I’ve not been doing much of, I’ve lost some weight which is raising alarm bells amongst those who know my history and meal times have become a battleground once more.  Tonight, I actually managed to eat some scrambled egg, beans and toast (I only allowed myself this after having walked Henry for a total of about 2 hours today, but this obviously won’t be possible going forward) but immediately dissolved into a hyperventilating, blubbering mess on the kitchen floor…I used to do this a lot during ‘refeeding’…??  Anyway, as of tomorrow, one of my new meds is to be increased so I’ll just have to wait and see what impact that has.

So, yeah, it’s a confusing time, overall.  I’m trying to keep myself busy in the house – I’m watching A LOT of Netflix/Amazon Prime (and have plenty of recommendations if anyone needs any lol), I have a 5000 piece jigsaw on the go (which is less relaxing and more frustrating, while I figure out a workable strategy), I’m playing a lot of PS4 and I’m managing to read a bit.  Weirdly, I miss studying despite not really having the capacity to sort out the dog’s dinner I left on my desk sometime around Christmas, much less read and understand anything…maybe that will come in time.  But all the while, I’m coping with this constant undercurrent of acute anxiety and low mood, a kind of inertia that wants me to stay in bed all day and an incredible sense of guilt at how unproductive I am, that I’m serving no purpose but to use up oxygen so vital for the survival of the rest of the human race.

[Just as an aside, if anyone reading this is a frontline member of NHS staff, I have nothing but respect and admiration for what you’re doing just now, and I pray that you all stay safe during this difficult time.  On behalf of service users everywhere, thank you 🙏 ]

COVID-19, Mental Health and Phone Phobia

NOTE: these are only my thoughts, and are by no means representative of everyone with mental health difficulties.

Perhaps a lesser reported impact of the recent Coronavirus outbreak is that had on people who struggle with their mental health.  Until recently, I was under the local Crisis Resolution and Home Treatment Team.  Upon discharge from their service, I was promised regular contact with my own named nurse.  This was more than a fortnight ago, before current guidelines/extra measures were brought into play.  Since the aforementioned discharge, I’ve seen my CPN once (two weeks ago) for about 20 minutes and have had no other contact whatsoever.

Now, however, things are understandably different.  I received word today that, going forward, appointments will be conducted over the phone.  I was expecting this and have done my best to mentally prepare myself…but I HATE talking on the phone (take the hint, people, don’t ever hit me up for a blether 😂).  Believe it or not, I manage appointments far better on a face-to-face basis.  Anyway, my consultant is going to ring me on Wednesday morning (at least I won’t have to get dressed lol), there’s a lot I have to say and I’m scared I’ll clam up and miss things out.  Although I’ve (eventually) noticed a slight shift in my brain chemistry since the change of my medication, I’ve now definitely plateaued.  On a scale of 1-10, my mood is stuck somewhere around a 4/5 (10 being the best I’ve ever felt, 0 being rock bottom).  I haven’t driven in a couple of months, I only leave the house to walk Henry, I’m still sleeping downstairs in the spare room (my own living space is still way too much of a trigger, being the place I totally unravelled* pre-hospital admission, I spend most of my time holed up watching films/boxsets on Netflix or playing my PS4 (self-isolation is my specialist subject), my appetite is dreadful, I’m losing weight…the list goes on.  Will I get this across over the phone?  Or will I just say everything is ‘ok’ and prematurely end the call?  That remains to be seen.

If I do manage to communicate the above concerns, what will be his response?  Will he increase my new tablet?  I know there’s one I still take that he previously mentioned taking away…will he suggest this?  The last time I cross-tapered it went spectacularly wrong, but at least I had 24/7 support.  I doubt that will be feasible at the moment.  If there are changes to be made, how will they be implemented?  I’m assuming the CMHT will alert my GP…?

So, yes, I realise the gravity of the COVID-19 situation and I’m not complaining about how it’s being handled, that’s the last thing I’d want anyone to think.  I know that there are groups within society who are considered ‘at risk’ and who must be protected as far as possible and I’ll absolutely do what I can to minimise the chances of me unknowingly spreading germs.  But I, along with many others, are also ‘at risk’ for different reasons.  Where are our guidelines? 

*euphemism

If I Was Brave

**TW: references self-destructive behaviour and suicidal thinking.  Please proceed only if you are comfortable with the subject matter**

If I was brave…

I’d punch a hole in the wall/wardrobe/my bed, but I’m currently still not sleeping in my own room so I’d effectively be destroying someone else’s furniture.  Why do I still have that insight when everything else is so confusing?

I’d eat.  At the moment, I‘m living subject to certain, self-imposed rules around food.  I haven’t enjoyed anything I’ve eaten since some time in January.

I’d tell everyone to f**k off and leave me alone. 

I’d leave a note, get in the car and make myself disappear.  Heck, maybe I wouldn’t even leave a note.

I’d stop saying “no” when (obstructive) people ask me if it’s really urgent that I see/speak to someone. 

I’d follow through on one of the plans I’ve made to end my life…I formulate many each day.

But I’m not brave, so I’m stuck with these thoughts on a loop and only sleep, if it even comes, brings respite.

 

Monsters and Voices

“I’m friends with the monster that’s under my bed

Get along with the voices inside of my head”

~Eminem

These song lyrics have been stuck in my head for the last few days.  I’m not too sure why.  Perhaps because I’ve finally noticed a bit of a shift in how I feel – I’m less anxious and can concentrate on things for a little longer.  My mood is still very low and I have no appetite at all, but that’s much more manageable than the chronic agitation that goes alongside the anxiety.

Things are far from ideal, but I believe the medication changes have finally done something to my brain chemistry and I’m not impulsively giving in to the voices and intrusive thoughts that drive me to make mistakes and end up in hospital…I’m allowing them their place, acknowledging them, but I’m applying certain techniques and strategies that help me not to succumb to the things they’re asking me to do.  Heck, I’m maybe even making friends with them.

What does this look like?  I’m more peaceful/can sit still (for short periods anyway, lol).  I’ve binge watched a season and a half of a series on Amazon Prime Video in the last four days, where recently I’ve struggled to concentrate for more than 20 minutes at a time and would find myself having to rewind bits of an episode until I just gave up completely.  I’m working at regaining a morning routine (getting up, having breakfast and getting showered…I even managed out with Henry this morning).  And I’m listening to the professionals who reassure me that this is enough for now, that I need as much rest as I can get and that an afternoon nap is almost a necessity, rather than the weakness I often see it to be.  Maybe most telling of all is that said processionals, the Crisis Team, are finally discharging me at the end of this week and my own CPN/named nurse and Consultant (with input from me, obviously) will resume control of my ongoing treatment and care.

So while waking up each morning to the notion that I’m starring in my very own version of “Groundhog Day” remains my current reality, I’m at least getting out of bed and trying.  And then I pop my head underneath the bed and greet those fickle little monsters; they’re free to stay as long as they like because, despite their best efforts, I think I might be stronger than they are.

 

24 Hours On A Psych Ward

So I’m now well into the second week of Operation Medication Overhaul and things have taken quite a dramatic turn for the worse.   So much so, that the Crisis Team decided a hospital admission was the best way forward.  They seemed to genuinely believe the ‘respite’ would be good for both me and my parents.  This was out of the blue for me, since my consultant has always been firmly of the belief that hospital would do me more harm than good.  However, I got a phone call on Tuesday afternoon to say that they’d spoken to him, he was on board and that there was a bed for me.

Everything happened really quickly after that.  Before I knew it, I was being seen by the admitting doctor and found myself with a temporary new home:

Nothing felt real for the first few hours.  I’d had no time to process what was happening and spent a period of time in what can only be described as a profound state of shock.  Heck, I actually believed I was in the right place!

That didn’t last though.  I first started to lose the plot a bit later that night when I had to go and ask for my meds at 11:30 pm (😳).  I slept fitfully, but that was understandable as there are hourly checks on the ward that consist of a nurse coming in and shining a torch in your face.  The following morning, I had a full-blown panic attack and two nurses had to spend some time talking me around.  My preferred place to be in a panic attack is on the floor, regardless of where I am, but they seemed to find it necessary to manhandle me into a chair/on to the bed.  They got me some sedation and I was quiet/at peace for an hour…but the sedation didn’t last and I had my second panic attack.

It was quickly becoming clear to me that there was no way I was better off in there than at home.  Granted, I feel dreadful and there have been concerns over my safety and whether or not I’m actively suicidal or just experiencing suicidal ideation.  But I can find some peace for periods of time when at home…even if it’s only sitting in front of the telly for a bit.  In hospital, I was becoming more and more demented.  When I explained all this to the nurse, it seemed there was going to be an issue with me leaving; it didn’t seem to be an option and the word “section” started being banded around.

Thank God for my mum and dad, who arrived later in the afternoon, took one look at me and insisted they were taking me home.  My dad spoke to my designated nurse, expressed his concern that I seemed one hundred times worse than when they’d left me the night before and that they’d like to take me home.  The nurse listened, got my consultant on the phone (who’s probably sitting smugly somewhere, thinking “I told you so”) and it was agreed I could leave with some constraints in place…I’ve moved downstairs temporarily, to sleep in the room next to my mum and dad, and they have all my meds and are dispensing them as prescribed.  The Crisis Team will step back in today and we’ll all work together to get me through the most horrific period of depression I’ve ever experienced.  I don’t know what it will take.  I feel lonely, isolated and desperate.  But I’m absolutely far better off at home than in that godawful place.

It’s not the answer

So this weekend I thought I’d try a bit of self-medication – using alcohol.  To be clear, I shouldn’t drink any alcohol due to the medication I’m on but, like a lot of people, I usually have one or two drinks on a Friday/Saturday evening.  I’ve never thought this was a problem.  In fact, I often quite look forward to dinner time on a Friday when I can pour a glass of wine, or open a bottle of beer…and I’ve never had an issue with stopping at one or two.

But this weekend was different.  Firstly, it started on Thursday and continued through until last night (Sunday).  I was feeling unworthy, unlovable, unhelpable, I was desperate to block out my emotions, so I went and bought some alcohol on Thursday afternoon.  I drank more than I normally would (but still not what the average person would call a ‘lot’) and would venture to say that, the next day, I had my first inkling of a hangover in about ten years.  And I repeated this on Friday, Saturday and Sunday evenings.

I think you can all guess that this has done nothing for my mood.  In fact, due to the alcohol, I became so uninhibited last night that I ended up more ‘at risk’ than normal and had to spend the best part of half an hour with the practice nurse this morning, while she did what she could to tidy up my mess and avoid me having to go to A&E and endure a MH assessment.  I’m so grateful that this one nurse is involved in my care, but I also feel ashamed and embarrassed at the time and energy she invests in me.

Anyway, I think I’ve learned that alcohol isn’t the solution, despite it’s effective (but very temporary) numbing qualities.  I’m sorry there isn’t a more profound message here…just don’t drink, kids.  It doesn’t help.

From Day to Day

**TW: refers to self harm and related behaviours.  Please proceed only if you are comfortable with the subject matter.**

So things aren’t letting up much. After a horrendous weekend, I ended up at the Drs surgery yesterday morning where I saw the nurse and my GP, who promptly called the Community Mental Health team and asked them to make contact with me.

Everything is hard; my parents respond to my maladaptive coping strategies by giving me the silent treatment.  I‘ve never felt so isolated in a house full of people.  I can’t, for the life of me, get them to understand that certain things, however macabre they may seem, do actually help.  Briefly.  And then I feel ashamed, guilty…and the cycle starts again.

My CPN did make contact yesterday, having received a call from my concerned GP, and the chat we had helped a bit.  We made a plan for the week, which includes a visit from her on Thursday.  Again, I’m not sure what will change off the back of the appointment, but the prospective contact is always something to cling on to.

Among my plans for the week was the participation in a “virtual challenge“ in aid of Small but Mighty, a very worthwhile local charity set up by a friend, to raise money for research into treatment for brain tumours.  All I had to do was donate a specific amount of money to the charity, and then Henry and I had to either walk or run 6K.  That was pencilled in for this morning and, despite the inclement weather, we did it…actually we walked 8K so threw in a bit extra for free (😉).  Early mornings tend to be my worst time, so it helped to have a reason to get up, organised and out this morning.  It was nice to spend time with Henry, give him a good bit of exercise (we’ve been quite restricted lately) and enjoy some (extremely lol) fresh air.

I’m spending the rest of the day trying to get some work done.  I’m still not sure if this academic year is salvageable but I’m trying with everything I have to keep going.  I’ve had some PRN medication so that might help.

Anyway, I guess the message here is the contrast in how I’ve been today, compared to the weekend/yesterday.  Sometimes it’s just all too hard, and other days I can just about manage.

 

“Every suicide attempt needs to be taken seriously”

**TW: refers to suicide.  Please proceed only if you’re comfortable with the subject matter.**

I came across this article today:

Why I’m Speaking Up About How Suicide Is Discussed in the Emergency Room

It really hit a nerve with me because I’ve been battling suicidal thoughts and feelings for a while now.  Just to be clear, having thoughts, even having a plan (to an extent), does not make one actively suicidal.  So there’s no need for alarm here.  It’s simply a notion that the constant pain and anguish is too much, I’m tired and I don’t know how much more I have left in the tank.

I’ve been in the scenario(s) described in the above article three separate times, although I only really remember two of them.  Each time, I’ve been treated like scum, wasting space.  I even remember one doctor slamming his stethoscope on to my chest, as though I’d just totally screwed up some personal plans he may have had! I’ve been patronised and spoken down to, as though there were nothing at all between my ears.  I was held until ‘medically fit’ for discharge and then sent on my merry way.  They make you see a psychiatric liaison nurse before you go home, but whether they are of any use is down to sheer luck, who’s on duty that day.  I was ‘lucky’ once out of three times…the time I don’t really remember much about, particularly the initial admission.  I still remember the face of the kind nurse I saw that time. He was appalled that they’d taken me off all meds (so I was withdrawing, on top of everything else) and demanded I be given a sedative immediately…it really was barbaric, when I think back now.

Anyway, I don’t mean to bring everyone’s Saturday evening down.  It’s just been the timing of the article above.

Make It Stop

Yet another early morning plea, broadcast on Facebook for all and sundry to see:

This time, though, a good friend of mine saw it, tried to make contact with me, failed and so (without me knowing) called MH services.  I know, I know, what do I expect when I put my sheer anguish out there into cyber space…?

It was bad judgement on my part, and the post has been removed from my FB feed.  I’d been awake all night and was feeling desperate.  But I don’t need to share that with practically everyone I know.  I know that now.

Anyway, in true MH services-back-to-front way of doing things, they could do nothing but reassure my friend they were there for me, I didn’t need to suffer alone etc. etc. but it had to be me who made contact with them.  They couldn’t, for whatever reason, phone me to check in.  I didn’t call them, and I don’t plan to do that until Friday when my own CPN is back in the office.  To be honest, I know the spiel inside out and there’s nothing they can do to help me anyway.  Sometimes, you get lucky and someone helpful answers the phone, but sometimes you get someone that just irritates you.  Incidentally, the piece of advice to end all others was the time a guy told me to go and watch a musical…what the actual fuck?!?!  Yeah, I’m suicidal pal, but you’ve just talked me right out of it; I’ll go and stick on “Annie” or “The Sound of Music” and all will be right with the world…bloody hell.  There have been many empty promises made recently.  My psychiatrist has been “having a think” about my meds since around October.  I wonder if he was still mulling it over while he ate his Christmas dinner, or if he’s giving himself a hard-earned break from all that thinking he’s been doing.  The only consistent (professional) support recently has come from my GP, and that’s only because I’ve got physical health issues too…those are far easier to deal with!

Realistically, I know the “work” (why do they call it that, like you’re at school or something?) has to come from me.  I know I have to make small changes in order to take bigger strides.  I’ve been offered OT or psychology input, but I (and my CPN) don’t think I’m well enough for either of those right now.  And there’s just so much I want to do!  I’d like to be out training again, but it’s just so damn terrifying.  I can’t even keep up with my uni work at the moment – everything is just too hard.

So, in summary, to all who saw that post earlier, I apologise. It should never have been put there.  Again, please don’t feel uncomfortable around me.  Yes, I am the epitome of weird, but only in the same quirky ways I always have been.  I’m not a raving lunatic, I just need a little bit of help right now.